


Meeting Cecil Palmer

by Marijane_Akuma



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos muses on Cecil, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Ramblings, graphic description of a character, like in a lovecraftian cthulhu kind of way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 14:34:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20391274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marijane_Akuma/pseuds/Marijane_Akuma
Summary: Meeting Cecil Palmer was- IS an... experience.





	Meeting Cecil Palmer

Meeting Cecil Palmer was-  _ is  _ an...  _ experience _ .   
  
He was neither tall nor short, not fat or thin, and not ugly or overly handsome.   
  
When Carlos looked at Cecil for too long his head began to swim, even more so if he tried to make a description of this impossible man.    
  
Cecil wasn't tall, except when he talked about the town or The Void or was using The Voice. At those times, he was tall,  _ tall tall tall _ , so tall it made Carlos wonder how he even fit his clothes anymore and his head hurt because he still had to crane his head down to look at Cecil, even though Cecil was so tall and stretched on forever.   
  
Sometimes Cecil was young, asking Carlos what the moon is made of, and what exactly pollens are and why they would attack Carlos.    
Sometimes he was old, looked haunted by memories he shouldn't have in the first place and moved stiffly and weak, when the town was torn into groups of contrasting opinions.   
  
Sometimes Cecil slowed down, and that was when Carlos could grasp brief comprehension of Cecil, whose skin was a swirling mess of different colours yet it was all the same, his hair was blond and black and white and red all at once and none at the same time, a third eye was there and it was not, or a fourth or fifth. His two main eyes, though, those were consistent, almost seeming abnormal with how they contrasted their ever-changing surroundings.   
When Carlos jokily asked if Cecil could remember the colour of his eyes even though he hadn't looked in a mirror for so long, Cecil had scoffed and answered green. Carlos was stumped, thinking he must've misheard. 

"What?"

"I said they're blue."

"Wait-  _ what _ ?"

"Brown Carlos,  _ brown _ , almost like your hair."

  
But even though he changed the answer every time, seemingly without noticing, it was never close to what they actually looked like. They weren't blue or green or brown, no, they were so much more than that.    
They were vibrant violet swimming in dark, so very very dark, what should be white. The slice of moon, not much different from the one of the town’s logo,was sliding up next to but not touching the pupil in a paler violet, more of a lavender almost, clearly visible in the vibrant iris.

Carlos didn’t want to think about why his eyes were like that, or how it might be connected to the hold this town’s authority had over this impossible man. Whenever he was The Voice, and so impossibly tall and stretched out long, they seemed to glow a bit, like the purple freckles he always and never had.   
  


Meeting Cecil Palmer was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to Carlos. And continued to be just that.


End file.
